


15 Out of 10

by wordstothewisereaders



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sam gets a fever, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:52:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstothewisereaders/pseuds/wordstothewisereaders
Summary: Sickness was always taken lightly at the bunker. After all, a cold couldn't get in the way of saving the world. Dean had always made sure that Sam was taken care of when they were younger and vice versa, though they always did the best they could to not completely baby the other with little to no success. Now the Winchesters and yourself would suck it up, take an Advil, and return to whatever job was at hand. There were, of course, exceptions to this lifelong rule. It was when something more serious arose, like a fever or the flu that sometimes caused recklessness that couldn't be afforded in hunts.Life was always more interesting when there was a sick Winchester to deal with.





	15 Out of 10

A/N: This is for a Tumblr challenge. It's pretty generic, but I hope you like it still! The prompt is in bold. 

***

Sickness was always taken lightly at the bunker. After all, a cold couldn't get in the way of saving the world. Dean had always made sure that Sam was taken care of when they were younger and vice versa, though they always did the best they could to not completely baby the other with little to no success. Now the Winchesters and yourself would suck it up, take an Advil, and return to whatever job was at hand. There were, of course, exceptions to this lifelong rule. It was when something more serious arose, like a fever or the flu that sometimes caused recklessness that couldn't be afforded in hunts. 

Life was always more interesting when there was a sick Winchester to deal with.

***

Blinding light met Sam's eyes as he opened them for the first time that morning. He squinted, covering them quickly and immediately noticing the way his head pounded. The door to his room was cracked open, filtering in the normally dim light of the hallway. The chill drafting in was getting to him, so he pulled his blankets up around his chin. He noticed the empty space beside him unhappily. 

Sam sighed heavily, or attempted to anyways, as he broke into a coughing fit that sounded as congested as his nose felt. He let his head hit the pillow, groaning. The terribly bright clock on his nightstand read 7:30. Usually, he would have been up an hour and a half ago to take a jog and start in on whatever disaster the day offered. He always woke himself up. The only times he hadn't had been when he was fighting the what-seemed-to-be yearly source of evil inhabiting him or when he was overcome with an illness. He didn't believe he was possesed which left only one option.

Sam Winchester was sick. 

As a child, Sam rarely came down with anything. Sure, there were plenty of bumps and bruises, but he and Dean never really contracted any sorts of sickness. A cold was common, though they usually took some medicine and went on with their lives. He could only remember two times in when he really had to take it easy. Once he had gotten strep throat and Dean had forced him to rest and let himself recover. The older Winchester's mama hen instincts had kicked in almost immediately, and he had babied his brother for a week. The other time he had come down with the flu. It was a helluva week in the stuffy hotel room as he tried to get through all of his homework and the research his father had dumped on him in his absence while trying not to vomit. The Winchester boys were raised to live tough or not at all.

Sam slowly pulled himself up, shivering at the lack of warmth from his blankets. He shrugged on a nearby sweatshirt with Stanford written in large red letters spread across the front and left his legs to freeze in his basketball shorts before closing the door, leaving the room in dear pitch black darkness. 

His head hadn't hurt this bad since he underwent the trials. He knew it wasn't demonic or evil, merely nature this time, but it felt like it was. It was a fever headache, something that had been recurring for the past half a year or so. You had tried to convince him to go to a doctor the more frequently they happened, but he refused because he 'had work to do.' 

Sam crawled back under his warm covers, curling himself into a ball to conserve heat. He felt himself dozing off again and let the sweet relief of sleep drag him under. 

***

"What's stuck up Sam's ass? He hasn't slept in this late in years." Dean commented over his cup of coffee. 

You shrugged, turning the page of the outdated newspaper in front of you. 

"He woke up after some pretty nasty nightmares last night and couldn't get back to sleep for a good hour. I'm surprised you couldn't hear him screaming." 

It was true. The previous night, distinct shouting had roused you, and it turned out that Sam was reliving one of his awful experiences again. You had held him for a while, eventually lulling him back to sleep. He refused to talk about it then. Of course, it hadn't bothered you nearly as much as it once would have, though you still hated it every time they happened.. The Winchesters were hardly ever open about their feelings, even to each other. 

"I'll go check on him." you said, pushing your chair back and making your way to your room. 

***

Sam groaned softly as you cracked open the door and slid in, clicking it shut behind you. His face was slick with sweat, but he was shivering intensely. You sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed the hair out of his face. He cracked an eye open, realizing hat you were doing, before gazing at you pathetically. 

You noticed how he looked different - _bad_ , even - as he looked over to you. His eyes were rimmed in red, bloodshot, though not from lack of sleep. Dark circles were under them, prominent. The tip of his nose was pink, as were his cheeks, but the rest of him was paler than normal. You raised a hand to his forehead, holding it there for a few seconds. He was quite warm, too. 

"Sam?" you asked quietly.

"Hmm?" he responded weakly.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" 

He didn't reply. Instead he merely rolled over closer to you, placing his head in your lap and closing his eyes again. 

"Is it a fever headache again?" 

Sam nodded, taking your hand in his much larger one. 

"How bad does your head hurt?" 

" **Uh, a 15 out of 10?** " Sam replied unsurely, his voice rough.

"I told you that you needed to see a doctor about this, Sammy." you scolded. 

"I know. I will...eventually." he said after a pause.

Even when he was down, he was still stubborn as hell. 

You watched your fiance sympathetically. It was rare for anyone to see him in his vulnerability, so when you did you were extra compassionate. Luckily, you had read up on his symptoms several months prior out of worry and found some things that were supposed to help him. 

Shuffling through the drawer of your nightstand, you pulled out ibuprofen and ventured to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and a cold pack from the freezer. 

***

"Is he good?" Dean asked as you were about to leave. 

"Another fever headache." you replied.

"Dammit, Sam. We're taking him to the doctor." the older Winchester said determinedly, a look of pain crossing his face upong hearing of his brother's distress.

It was always how they operated. If one was down, the other could feel it. 

"That's what I said." 

***

You returned to the bedroom and made Sam take a couple of pills before forcing him to lay on his back. Gently, you drapped the cold pack across his forehead.

"Put this in your mouth." you commanded, poking a thermometer between his teeth. 

He complied silently, a look of contempt crossing his features. Moments later, you were pulling the shrieking device away. _102.1._

He took your hand again and pulled you to lay down beside him. Sweat glistened off of the back of his neck and you could feel it on his skin. 

"Sammy, you probably need to eat." you said, rubbing his back soothingly. 

"'m okay. Just want to sleep." he mumbled against you. 

You sighed, knowing you probably weren't going to budge for the rest of the day. 

***

Sam woke with wide eyes later, panting heavily. The fever dreams had come in vivid color this time.

You could tell from his eyes that his temperature had gotten worse and knitted your eyebrows in concern. You had moved from the bed to a nearby chair, allowing Sam to have enough room.

He threw the blankets off of him and took off the sweatshirt he had needed earlier. He was nearly spread-eagled on the bed and talking incoherently every now and again. 

You moved to sit beside him, smoothing back his hair. 

"Shhh, it's okay." you murmured every time he would make a noise. 

Soon, he settled and woke himself up, glassy hazel eyes staring up at you.

"It's really hot in here." he said miserably, wiping away the sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

"I know, sweetie." 

"'m sorry for putting you through this. You don't have to stay." Sam said guiltily, looking  at you sadly. 

"Hey, it's about to be in sickness and in health, right? I'm just practicing for then." 

 

 

 


End file.
